LEADEN MY BELLY

the accelerator stream
out the hand-glass
&
the pox-vox-pops 

out the circus vents

leaden my belly
& take the light

out my dreamed mountain view

~

brain rot

bring it

reality got bent

TIME WAS- VICTORIOUS WE GAS DOWN

after 
a mcjob show trial
in the dust factory
or
a dole days 
long hot
ennui probation

we
pile
into
a
suburban 
boho
bungalow
bedroom

and gas down

our funky lexicon
getting loud

~

we
get weed stupid

lift the veil
forget the day

and
go
march 
up the 
weird sane street

l
  a  u    i
      g h     g
            n    

at sign posts

looking only for time
in
englands great estate 
rubble
heap

~

only the clouds !
i declare
only the clouds
hint gods still playing !

we
are
a Feckless of Stoners
a Puff Pod
a Cash Only Hash Mash
bottle openers on all our keys

out
for
wine at 9

~

oh the horror 
of the bottle shop

the damn fluorescents

such indecent order

all the faces
running wax

accelerated blinks
my hands all thumbs
everythings booby trapped

day-sick bunnies 
in the 
straight headlights

of
consumerisms
incandescent
candy coloured
circus

and
it
makes
the
cool sweet air 
of
street side nothing

w o n d e r f u l

as cold sweat dries

~

fresh cigarette foil
balled and flicked

match sulphur
under street lights

swiss army corkscrew
deployed
on the heavy reds

we show the punt
to the early moon

a fist in the face
of the weekday dusk

victorious
delirious

high on our sugar mountain

we
gas down

from bigbible.org.uk

POETRY IS - JUMP TO THE END

poetry is a flatulent comeback
too late but nevermind
left
in
natures bushes and brush and grass
all good

poetry is a direwolfs heart 
loose
on
the
transit tarmac
running 7 miles
on its toes

poetry is a bewilderbeast
hooting for attention
hooting for a ride
on
the
electraglide blacktop
backcombing its intentions

poetry is a road movie
in a circus mirror

poetry is a good dinner
and the pork lodged afterwards
in
your
yellow
incisors
that your tongue
has to touch
has to touch
has to touch

poetry is a forgotten anxiety
from wheneverthefuck
cold-calling you
in your weeknight pyjamas

poetry is graffiti and gospel
scratched in the escalators
hard-to-reach
sliding-by
plasterboard
between the magazine cover ads
repeating like a warhol convoy

poetry is your dream newspaper scream
and the dark dark sitcom
of
your
alone
alone
mind time

poetry is cotton mist and steel fact
let off the leash
kicking and screaming
playing hard
working hard
in the veins of the electric delta

poetry is on the bookshelf
broken spine
calling for you

poetry is a hummingbird

simple as that

from tolkienistperspective.wordpress.com